


More Sinned Against Than Sinning

by cosim18



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosim18/pseuds/cosim18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Derek had stayed in Beacon Hills, how would he have reacted to finding out Stiles killed Donovan?</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Sinned Against Than Sinning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with the intention of platonic Sterek, as I love their friendship, but it can easily be seen as Sterek as a couple if you want. Without a doubt, I believe Derek would have been helpful and comforting to Stiles about what happened if he knew about Donovan, and he definitely wouldn't have reacted the way that Scott did. As heartwrenching as Scott's confrontation with Stiles was, I loved it in terms of character development and Stiles' speech, though I'm still mad at Scott for trusting Theo before trusting Stiles.   
> Anyway, that's kind of where the inspiration for this came from, in that I wanted a scene where Stiles is able to explain what happened, from his own perspective, to someone right after it happened and he was still kind of numb with guilt.

It was late one night and the sky was full of clouds, threatening an impending storm. Stiles Stilinski was in his room, pacing around, unsure of what to do.

As soon as he got home, the teenager ran to the bathroom, scrubbing his hands raw, showering off the grime of the jeep's engine and the blood on his hands and attempting to clean the wendigo bite, trying to wash off the guilt but only increasing it. He took a couple of ibuprofen for his injured shoulder, popped an Adderall and returned to his room to his board. Stiles' hands were shaking, his mind running a mile a minute, his breathing increasing, a panic attack looming. Closing - no, squeezing - his eyes shut, he screamed, slamming his fists against the dry-erase board, releasing the guilt into the air, palpable and breathable like spores of a poisonous fungus.

_Think, Stiles, think!_

Stiles walked over to his desk, picked up his markers and wrote Donovan's name on the board, hoping beyond hope that his mistake hadn't been final; hoping that he hadn't just _killed_ someone, that he hadn't ended another life. Knowing that wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere, he erased the name frantically, trying to blot the memory from his mind, and threw the eraser at the board. All that talk over the years was nothing, he never actually wanted anyone to die. Yelling in vain once more, he knew, he knew Donovan had to be dead, that who or whatever was stealing the bodies had stolen Donovan's.

His heartbeat was increasing, much faster than it should've, and Stiles took several shaky breaths to try to stop the panic attack from coming. He knew he would lose his best friend. No, no, Scott was so much more than that. Stiles knew he would lose his brother. The person who he trusted beyond anyone else, the person who made everything right, the person who never gave up hope on him, even when he was possessed by the nogitsune.

*****

Stiles eventually fell asleep, though how he managed to do so, he had no idea. He needed someone to know what had happened but had nobody to tell. If he told his father, he had no proof of what happened, and besides, people, his friends included, might think he went after Donovan, after witnessing the now-deceased teen's threats against Sheriff Stilinski. Eventually, his worrying and declining adrenaline caught up, and Stiles' head landed on the pillow. He slept dreamlessly, something that didn't often occur anymore, but was awakened when he heard noises downstairs. Looking at the clock, Stiles realized that his dad would still be at work, and it was too late for any of the pack to come over. Picking up the baseball bat leaning against the far wall, Stiles slowly walked out of his room, creeping down the hallway until he caught sight of the familiar scruffy face of Derek Hale.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing here?! You damn near gave me a heart attack."

"Stiles, your heart was racing before you even heard me. Are you going to tell me what is going on?"

"Only if you tell me why you came here first, in the middle of the night, no less," Stiles countered.

"I was just going for a walk and noticed that your light was on. At 4 o'clock in the morning. Not to mention that your anxiety and guilt chem signals are much higher than usual, almost at the level they were when you were possessed. You smell like the imprint you left on the roof of the hospital that night, the night we realized you'd been possessed, and we both know how bad things were then. So what happened?" Derek was clearly concerned, and for some reason Stiles flashed back to when Boyd was killed, when Stiles was there for Derek.

"Uh, okay, well thanks for the concern. I guess I can trust you, given everything we've all been through these past few years. You better come up." With his exhaustion and a heavy conscience, Stiles had no room for sarcasm. Without anything further, he returned to his room, expecting the werewolf to follow. Sitting on the edge of his bed, his knee bouncing rapidly, Stiles waited until Derek was sitting in the chair at the desk, and began to tell the events that had occurred that night.

His voice caught several times, and he kept fiddling with his shaking hands, unable to say the words out loud, say that he killed Donovan. Stiles told Derek about how Donovan surprised him by putting his hand-mouth on his shoulder, and showed Derek the bite. He explained how he managed to hit Donovan with the wrench before fleeing into the school, how he hid in the library despite Donovan's taunts about his father, how he frantically climbed the scaffolding before finding the pin that ultimately caused Donovan's death. Noticing the boy's increasing anxiety and his almost gasping breaths, Derek stopped Stiles, not needing to hear any more in order to understand what had happened. No matter how bad his threats had been, no matter if he was a chimera, Stiles knew Donovan did not deserve to die, and he knew he would never be absolved of his guilt, at least in his own mind. After Derek stopped him, he couldn't bring himself to look up at the wolf, instead choosing to stare intently at his hands. He even counted his fingers a few times, making sure his subconscious wasn't just trying to help ease his guilt by producing a dream of the one person who _might_ understand what happened.

Derek initially had no reaction, unsure of how exactly to respond. Stiles killed someone, and as hard as that may have been to believe in other circumstances, he knew from a combination of his current chem signals and the darkness looming in his mind following the nogitsune possession that he wasn't lying. Unable to find the words to comfort Stiles, Derek simply crossed the room and pulled Stiles into a hug, an embrace to show him that he wasn't alone. No matter the beef between the two, Derek knew full well what it was like to cause the death of someone, regardless of circumstances. He had killed Paige, he killed his own uncle, Peter's resurrection notwithstanding, and he killed Boyd. With the memory of his former beta, Derek also remembered Stiles' presence, his comforting hand on the alpha's shoulder as he silently wept for his fallen pack member. He pulled himself away from Stiles, gently lifting the teen's chin to make him look at him. Derek held his eyes, not allowing him to look away or stare at his hands again.

"You _will_ get through this. You've survived werewolves trying to kill you, the Oni, a possession by a dark trickster spirit, and a teacher pointing a gun at you, and just as you've gotten through all of those things, you'll get through this. You're strong, Stiles, and you're smart, so you have to know I'm right. The guilt doesn't go away, not really, but you know in your heart that it was self-defense, right? No matter what, remember that, Stiles. You don't have a vengeful bone in your scrawny body. Hell, I didn't even think the nogitsune had possessed you, simply because you've always been, well, you." Derek didn't really have a way with words, especially with the lanky human he'd so often felt annoyed by, but he hoped his words could reach Stiles' conscience. He knew how guilty he still felt about the deaths he had caused, but he couldn't imagine the increased amount of guilt Stiles must feel given that he was a human with no supernatural abilities.

"Thanks," Stiles muttered, finally dropping his gaze from Derek's eyes. He realized he wasn't shaking anymore, and suddenly he felt lighter and tired, a combination of the catharsis from telling his story to someone and the fact that Derek had woken him in the middle of the night.

"I can stay the night with you if you want. I'll sleep on the chair, of course, but I'm here if you need someone," Derek offered, noticing how tired Stiles was. He looked like he'd aged a hundred years in one day, but also looked lighter, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Please? If you don't mind, of course. I don't feel safe being alone tonight," Stiles muttered, already leaning down towards the bed. Derek's only reply was a nod as he gently pushed Stiles back onto the bed, pulling the covers up over  him  and  sitting back in the chair. He knew Stiles had a long  way  to go until he fully recovered, both mentally and physically, but Derek was willing to help him if he could.


End file.
